


The Pen and the Sword

by Ersatz_Writer



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Politics, Pre-War, Scientific Controversy, Starscream/Skyfire If You Want It To Be, Threats of Violence, Tragedy, metanoia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ersatz_Writer/pseuds/Ersatz_Writer
Summary: (Pre-War) From fervent scientist to ruthless activist, Starscream discovers that actions speak louder than words.





	1. Reprise

**Author's Note:**

> A long, long time ago, on a planet far, far away (no really), I wondered to myself: How come each member of the Elite Trine has an ability of some sort? I started a badly thought out, incomplete fic in search of the answer, got stuck, and gave up. 
> 
> Very recently, I thought: Hmm. I could still work with this. And spawned this. Which is hopefully better, since I've actually put, you know, thought into it. And there's a plot and everything. 
> 
> So yeah. Enjoy. :)

**Reprise:** n. a repeated passage in music

vb. to repeat a piece of music or performance

* * *

Dustmaster had seen many graduation ceremonies at Quintus Prime College of Young Scientists over the years, but somehow, none felt as difficult as this one.

He swept his gaze from the stage now, where he was reading his annual graduation speech, and took in the rows of young, aspirational talents looking right back at him. This vorn had proved an excellent turnout for Quintus Prime College, with at least five hundred mechs from the scientific class. He peered down at them now – all slimly built, petite, armed with microscopic lenses, scalpels: the _appropriate_ alt-modes to truly understand the subject. Dustmaster himself was a magnetometer, and proud of it. Having the right alt-mode, the aging Headmaster thought, **h** **elped.**   

Which was why Starscream was Dustmaster’s personal processor ache.

His optics fell upon the jarring blot seated unescapably in his line of vision, noticing without really wanting to the perked, out-of-place wings, the tough, militaristic build and the self-satisfied little smirk on dark faceplates.

Now, Dustmaster was not a Functionist – at least, he did not believe himself to be one. No. For all his age and experience, he thought himself surprisingly liberal: a proud advocate of equality, freedom of choice, and freedom from discrimination based on alt-modes. Of course, a mech’s Primus given Spark and alt-mode dictated a large part of their identity and who they were to become, but there were, naturally, other factors involved too.

(What those factors were precisely, he would struggle to answer, but the belief was there, and that was all that mattered.)

Starscream, however, seemed to take it upon himself to challenge his Headmaster’s liberalism at every turn.

To Dustmaster, it really didn’t matter that his unruly pupil was a Seeker, a flier, or a member of the militant class who had enrolled by chance on a short-lived project to promote flexibility between castes. The old mech had been very supportive of the whole ideal, or else he would never incorporate the programme into his own school. No, Starscream's altmode was surely not the issue.

The Headmaster glanced down at his script, pausing to scan the remainder of it with an increasingly heavy Spark.

“And now,” he announced, with a gravity in his voice not suited to the occasion, “we must commend, as usual, the top students of this already extremely talented year, many of whom will be proceeding to study at Cybertron’s finest Science Academies. When I read out your designation, please come up to the stage and collect your award.”

A smattering of polite applause. Dustmaster sneaked a quick glance over in the direction of his most undeserving pupil, and saw that the other’s smirk had only grown wider.

No. The issue did not lie with Starscream’s alt-mode, or class, at all. He thought firmly to himself. The issue was that, despite all his liberalism, the Seeker truly was _different_ from all the other, natural-forged scientists – an anomaly in all senses of the word.

“… We begin with Torrent, for his wonderful project proposing the existence of an eighth part of the electromagnetic spectrum…”

When the applause died down, a tall, thin mech shuffled awkwardly to the front of the stage, snatching the award from Dustmaster’s absent digits with an almost frightened air, but the Headmaster was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice.

Starscream defied all expectations. Despite his reluctance, Dustmaster was forced to concede that the Seeker had been one of his brightest pupils – quick to grasp and apply concepts that would befuddle the most learned professors, with a sharp optic for details and a brilliantly critical mind. The sheer intelligence he possessed – for a mech of his class, anyway – was unnerving, and Dustmaster shuddered to admit that he could not even imagine how Quintus Prime himself - one of the original Thirteen! - could surpass this talented, young mech.

“… Astroscope, for his recent publication of a paper in conjunction with some of the top researchers in the field of Mini-con theory…”

And yet – and Dustmaster had to emphasise to himself that he was _not_ a Functionist, what he had to say was simply true – certain aspects of the Seeker’s… conduct _must_ arise as a result of his primal, militant nature. There was simply no other explanation for such behaviour in the old Headmaster’s mind. Starscream, despite his scientific prowess, was a constant source of uncontrolled _barbarity_. Professors reported him to be ‘condescending, rude, and with a complete disregard of established rules’, and among peers, too, he was friendless. Dustmaster could not even count the number of times he had received complaints about Starscream using derogatory slang towards his non-flier classmates. And then there were the reports of vandalism, the bullying, the fighting…

The old Headmaster paused now, taking in a deep cycle of air as he frowned at the final name before him:

“… And finally, Starscream. The first scientist of military caste to graduate from our esteemed Quintus Prime College, indeed any college, and not only graduate, but to do so with flying colours –” he paused a little to process the pun with a humourless smile, “ – with an unprecedented perfect score and an offer to study at Cybertron’s leading science institution, the Iacon Academy of Science and Technology.”

His words fell in silence. Unlike with the previous designations, this one was met with no applause, no praise, not even the slightest pretence of respect. United by a similar sense of injustice and indignation, the entire college fell into collective, cold judgment, as though they were watching a robbery unfold, an honour unfairly stolen from where it rightfully belonged.

Seemingly unperturbed by the unfriendly atmosphere about him, Starscream pulled himself proudly from his seat and sauntered on to the stage with a bright smile on his faceplates.

Somehow even more irritated by this, Dustmaster extended a slow servo in an obligatory handshake, his digits clenching unconsciously around the prize in his palm at the thought of relinquishing it to so undeserving a mech. “Congratulations, Starscream,” he growled, his vocaliser rough with the effort of forcing out these words.

But to his astonishment and further outrage, the Seeker simply ignored him. As he climbed up the stage, Starscream walked straight past his ancient Headmaster and stopped squarely before the microphone.

“I would just like to say a few words,” he announced in an unexpectedly cordial tone to his equally unsuspecting audience, “before I accept my award.”

The alarm bells in Dustmaster’s helm were already screaming with a vengeance, but he could only stare, paralysed, at the shadow of his pupil’s winged form silhouetted against the spotlights concentrated upon him.

“I just want to say,” said Starscream, with great poise and elegance, “I have had a wonderful time here at Quintus Prime College with its supportive staff and peers. I know I would not be standing before you all today, as a humble military-class bot, if it wasn’t for the incredible hard work of all my professors and Headmaster. So the first thing I want to say to you all is: thank you.”

Stunned silence. A murmur rose among the student body, who now wondered whether they were all trapped in a collective dream.

“No, no. Really,” Starscream laughed, raising his hands to silence his awed audience. “Believe me, I am aware of my history here, and I know many of you will harbour ill feelings towards me. The truth is, you have all been a part of my education, and your guidance have been, shall we say, _invaluable_. The lessons I have learnt here, I will never forget…”

He paused, and, if Dustmaster really _had_ tentatively allowed himself to believe that a miraculous change had awoken in his most disruptive student, then the illusion shattered completely in that single moment.

The Headmaster watched, too late to intervene, as Starscream gripped the microphone in a sudden frenzy of emotions, his faceplates twisting abruptly as he turned, once again, into the vile, uncouth **scoundrel** the old mech had always believed him to be.

“… Here, I’ve learnt just how shallow, bigoted, and prejudiced a society can be,” the Seeker spat, crimson optics smouldering like the Pits themselves. “Yes. You. All of you. Swanning about in the comfort of having been randomly assigned an alt-mode of a ‘higher’ caste, as if you’re not just here by random good luck! Scientific class? Don’t make me laugh! There’s barely a scraplet worth of intelligence between the whole _lot_ of you. Prestigious college my aft! You’re _all_ part of a broken, corrupt system. You’re not worth the slag you can be melted down into…”

And the abuse rolled on and on, growing increasingly graphic and violent in description as the speaker on stage grew more and more passionate about his cause. Dustmaster could feel himself trembling – he had been Headmaster for vorns, and _never_ in all his life had he experienced such a blatantly disrespectful challenge on everything he had ever stood for. As the disturbing words continued, each syllable enunciated with sharp cruelty, something in the old mech finally snapped.

Summoning all the oppressive rage which he, too, had been accumulating in his chest, he cycled in a deep breath of air:

“Starscream! _**ENOUGH**_!”

This mighty roar – the first authoritative sound to come out of this little old mech for many vorns now – coupled by the clatter of an empty award falling from his grip, finally silenced the Seeker, if only momentarily.

Starscream paused in his speech, tilting his helm lazily back so that his taunting, burning optics met his Headmaster’s.

Dustmaster could take it no longer.

“You,” he pointed a trembling digit in Starscream’s direction, quite forgetting in the moment that the optics of the whole college was watching him, “are a _disgrace_ to this college. Never in all my vorns of service have I had the misfortune to encounter a mech so utterly ungrateful and unpleasant as _you_ , Starscream! I have welcomed you here, taught you with as much dignity and respect as any of my other students, and _this_ is how you repay me?!”

The Seeker was silent, and Dustmaster suddenly found that he could not find it in himself to stop – an impulse he would never forgive himself for later. “Ever since your arrival,” he persisted, coolant flying from his lips, “you have been nothing but trouble. _Endless_ torturing and haranguing of my staff, of my students, not to mention the inexcusable damage and vandalism dealt to the college’s properties! It’s clear that the sickness of brutality and violence can never be cured from a militant mech. _You will **never** be a scientist, Starscream, no matter how hard you try_!”

The outburst left him temporarily breathless, his fans cycling furiously as he glared at the insolent flier before him. The heat of the moment left him not quite unable to process exactly what he had just uttered.

But then he saw it – the slow, smug smile spreading slyly across Starscream’s faceplates, and he realised too late what he had done.

Starscream turned to face the silent student body. “And there you have it,” he commented, lowly. “Functionism at its finest. I rest my case.”

Dustmaster felt his whole frame turn cold as his former student finally stepped back from the microphone, and turned to look at him one final time. “Keep the award, sir,” hissed the Seeker, sweetly, his vocaliser soft with saccharine danger. “Who knows? I may come back some day to relieve you of it.”

With that, leaving both his Headmaster and his fellow peers stunned, Starscream leapt deftly into the air and transformed, engines roaring, and the roof of the Great Hall - usually reserved to open the College's great telescope - unfolded just in time for the jet to escape through the gaps. He tore his way across the darkening skies with all the confidence of a mech who knew there would be none could follow.

 

But still, the Seeker’s terrible laughter was left ringing long after his departure.

* * *

 

Starscream knew for a fact that this was not the first time he had told this story, but he thought Skyfire probably didn’t notice anyway. As he recounted his iconic tale of slagging off his entire college on stage, his research partner was watching him with appropriate admiration, which pleased the Seeker immensely.

“… And then he said some slag about how I would never be cured from the ‘sickness –’” here, he pulled a face in a grotesque imitation of his former Headmaster, “’– of brutality and violence’ because I was a Seeker. He told me I’d never be a scientist, and that was exactly what I wanted to hear.”

He strutted towards the front of the laboratory, wings arched high as he clutched at an imaginary microphone and gestured, with great pomp and triumph, towards the equally imaginary Dustmaster. “’And there you have it,’” he declared, with a heroic puff of his chest, “’Functionism at its finest. I rest my case.’”

Turning his helm, he smirked down at Skyfire as though expecting applause, and was somewhat miffed when the shuttle did not oblige.

Still, spirits undampened, he settled himself back at the counter and tipped a carefully measured container of grey powder into a boiling flask filled with heated Energon. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Were you punished?” asked Skyfire curiously, and Starscream interpreted this tone to be one of awe and respect. He had always suspected the good-natured shuttle to be the obedient type; the ones who always asked for permission every time they needed the lavatory.

The Seeker grinned with unabashed pride. “Of course not. It was graduation. There was nothing they could do about it then. Since I was no longer under their care, I could say whatever the frag I pleased.”

He thought of Dustmaster’s wizened faceplates, optics popping wide with rage and horror, and couldn’t help but burst into harsh laughter again. 

Skyfire did not join him, and Starscream assumed it was because the shuttle was still marvelling over the events of the story. Once the Seeker had managed to stifle his chuckles, his partner asked: “Had you planned this for long then?”

“Oh yes,” the Seeker answered immediately, his optics bloodthirsty. “Almost from the day I enrolled. The only reason I kept quiet until then was because the corrupted administration kept enforcing punishments every time I _did_ say anything. All that slagging censorship.” His voice had dropped to a growl at this point, and he was stirring the bubbling liquid with venom. “They used to limit my energon, give me curfews, keep me separate from the other students… They made me write _lines_ , for frag’s sake. All that sparkling slag – for discipline, they said. I had to let them know, _somehow_ , that I wasn’t buying their Functionist lies.”

As the bubbling grew ever more frenzied, the Seeker diverted his attention to a little burner beneath the flask, and adjusted it meticulously so that the flame flickered a bloody red that matched his optics. Suddenly, it occurred to him that his companion was questioning because he was not as impressed with his story as much as he _should_ have been, and turning to glare at the other mech, he demanded: “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The higher castes are always filled with rabid Functionists.”

“Yes…” admitted Skyfire, with a heavy voice, but Starscream didn’t like the hesitancy. His friend was looking thoughtful. “But you said yourself you did pick fights with some of the other students.”

“Only the ones that deserved it,” said Starscream, dismissively waving his servo. “That was all part of the same ploy. I wasn’t going to stand for that kind of rampant prejudice, so I made an example of a few of them.” He scowled when Skyfire looked sceptical. “Look, I never started any fights myself, alright? That rusting old senile just chose not to believe me every time.”

“I’m just saying,” said Skyfire, neutrally, as Starscream’s wings flitted in righteous indignation, “it doesn’t sound as though you were perfect yourself.”

At this, the Seeker’s optics flashed, and his demeanour became tense and aggravated. “What do you mean?” He challenged, his voice rising in cold, abrupt fury. “I was their _top student._ My score was unprecedented in the history of the college, possibly the whole of Iacon. It was _perfect_ , Skyfire. Look at me! I’m in the Academy of Science and Technology – I was three mechs out of five hundred! What  _more_ could they possibly want?!”

He was getting quite excited, his wings pulled taut and high over his head, but Skyfire remained cool and unprovoked, his optics focussed only on the Energon steaming before him. _Or perhaps,_ thought Starscream nastily, _he’s just too ignorant to recognise his own offensiveness._

But Skyfire was oblivious to the Seeker’s malicious thoughts. “Academic achievement has no relation to personality,” said the shuttle, frankly. “You made sure they would dislike you anyway, didn’t you?”

… That was true. Starscream mulled over this notion and let his wings relax, his temper fading as quickly as it had flared. It felt better now that his control of the situation was acknowledged – the instigator, not the victim. “I don’t need _their_ high opinions,” he huffed. “You’ve been through it yourself, Skyfire. You know _exactly_ what I mean.”

The shuttle seemed reflective, some kind of heavy sadness shrouding his expression, but presently he shook that off and fought to maintain his principles.

“I still think the graffitiing seemed a bit far.”

“Oh, I only did those when I was drunk.”

Now Skyfire allowed himself a chuckle and Starscream smirked back at him. “What? It was fun. Artistic. Just because I want to be a scientist doesn’t mean I have no appreciation of the arts.”

His partner shook his helm, but did not press him any further. Satisfied, the Seeker turned his full attention back on to  the flask before him. Carefully, he removed the flame, lifting the container into the air so he could examine the contents for its colour and transparency. Then, gingerly, he lifted it to his lips and took a delicate sip.

“… Mmh. Perfect. Even better than last time,” he commented a moment later, looking pleased with himself. “You want some? The flavours are exquisite, if I do say so myself.”

Skyfire pushed himself off his elbows and gently pushing the proffered flask away. “No thank you, I’m going to meet my friends at the bar later.” He paused as he surveyed the state of the lab, littered with all manners of distillers, pipettes, and empty Energon cubes. “You should really stop cooking high grade with our lab equipment anyway. You know we have an inspection tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes. It will be fine. Everything will be clean by tomorrow, I promise,” said the Seeker, lazily taking another much more generous swig. “I’m all prepared – just leave the talking to me. The Senate will be delighted anyhow with the new ‘biological weapons’ –” he scowled in disgust at the phrase, “– I have for them.”

“Oh, yes.” Skyfire nodded, remembering. “The Outliers.”

Starscream’s lips quirked over the edges of his flask. “You know, I _am_ surprised that you don’t have any issues with this,” he remarked amusedly. “You’re always so worried about the _ethics_ of things.”

“Because it’s an important part of being a scientist,” Skyfire replied calmly, looking his friend in the optics. “And because I’m in charge of the Biomechanical aspects of this project, after all. It’s even more important to me that whatever life form I come in contact with is not harmed.”

“Well, I _would_ spare you the horrors of your own field of expertise,” remarked Starscream sarcastically, “but I’m simply not fond of Biomechanics, and by chance, it seemed to be what you enjoyed best. You should be grateful I gave you this opportunity to feel useful.”

“Not fond of Biomechanics?” His partner teased good-naturedly, unable to resist this opening. “Not much of a perfect student then, are you?”

The Seeker glared at him, but there was no real spite in his optics. “I just don’t like it, that’s all,” he shot back in defence. “It doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.”

Skyfire laughed, and Starscream’s own faceplates relaxed into a small but genuine smile at the sound, one which he hastily buried under another gulp of high grade. “Anyway,” he said by way of distraction once he had finished, “like I said, I have everything prepared for tomorrow, so even _you_ can stop fretting for a few cycles.” He paused for a moment to check his internal chronometer, then added: “You should really head over to your little ground-pounder friends anyway, or they’ll think you’ve turned into another condescending flytoy who only hangs out with other fliers now.”

“Don’t call –” began Skyfire exasperatedly, before wisely giving up the battle as a lost cause. “Alright then,” he conceded instead. “I’ll leave you to it. See you later, Starscream. And thank you.”

“For what?” said the Seeker, this time genuinely baffled, but the shuttle simply smiled, and waved.


	2. Intoxication

**Intoxication** : n. poisoning by a toxic substance; the impaired condition caused by use of alcohol or drug or other chemical substance

* * *

"I can't wait to get out of this Primus damned place!" exclaimed Skywarp.

It was just one of the many times he had complained about the Jhiaxian Academy of Advanced Technology in the last three vorns they had spent stuck in it, but today his voice was elated, one filled with hope and excitement for the future rather than bitter despair. The purple Seeker danced about his room now, items winking in and out of existence as he threw them into his subspace in an erratic fashion which was apparently his way of 'packing'. He looked like a sparkling in a toy shop, his joy at his new lease of freedom making everything seem new and necessary, and Thundercracker had to stop him every now and again to tell him: no, he didn't need to take a chair, they surely had those in Iacon. And no, he didn't need to take five cans of polish, and if he really wanted to, then one of his six brushes was going to have to go.

That was how most of their interactions had proceeded in the last few cycles, and Thundercracker was starting to feel tired.

Truth be told, whilst he was as relieved as his friend to be free from the prison that had been their Academy, he did not quite share the other's optimistic hopes for the future. It was Starscream who had summoned them, after all, and whilst he supposed he should be grateful, he felt certain that he would have reasons not to be in the future.

Skywarp was perched now on the edge of his berth, beaming happily around at his now bare room with a subspace presumably crammed with non-essentials. "I can't wait!" He sang, optics positively sparkling with delight. "No more of that slagging Ditch, making me fly on empty around campus. No more 'teleport here, teleport there, teleport ten times in a row!' and all that slag. No more of that aft Trailbreaker… Primus slag it, I hate that mech. And best of all: _no more rules_!"

"You still have to obey the law, Warp," said Thundercracker somewhat pedantically. He was staring out of the window, listening to his trinemate's prattle with only half an audial. The rest of his thoughts were far away in Iacon, with their trine leader, and his Spark felt heavy with the very thought.

Skywarp bounced on his berth, enjoying the squeaking creaks it made. "Yeah? Well, even the laws aren't as strict as fragging _Ditch_." He paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Hey… You don't suppose I should go and give him a parting present of some kind, do you?"

"No," said Thundercracker without missing a beat.

His wingmate's face fell. "Why not?"

"Because we're done here," said the older Seeker, his voice heavy with bitterness. "It took Starscream long enough, but at least we're on our way out of here. If you try to throw one of your stupid pranks before you leave though, they'll coin you as a danger to society, and you'll just be giving them another reason to keep you for longer."

The squeaking stopped momentarily as Skywarp mulled over the terrifying implications. Then, just as quickly, the bouncing screeches gained momentum again. "You're no fun, TC," he pouted, wings flattening.

"No, I'm not. And stop doing that, it's annoying."

The berth settled, and Skywarp fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence. This lasted for a few, blissful klicks. Then, unable to help himself: "Can you believe Screamer actually made it into that fancy Academy at Iacon?"

"Mmh," said Thundercracker.

Undeterred, Skywarp continued. "I always knew he was smart, but I didn't think he'd actually pull it off. He was on the news for a bit, wasn't he? It's so slagging weird."

The blue Seeker grunted vaguely.

"I can't wait for the three of us to fly again," remarked Skywarp, swinging his legs on the berth. Squeak. Squeak. "Uh, don't get me wrong, TC, it's great flying with you. But it's just not the same without Screamer, you know? Seekers _are_ designed to fly in threes."

Squeak. Squeak.

"Warp," snapped Thundercracker, "I said stop doing that!"

… Squeak?

Thundercracker slowly rotated his chair round and gave his trinemate a look.

"Jeez, what's got _your_ exhaust port in such a twist today?" Skywarp complained bitterly, folding his arms across his cockpit. "You've just been moping for the past few orns, when you've been wanting to get out of here just as much as I have. What's the big deal, huh? You're still holding a grudge with Starscream?"

"No, look, I…" The Seeker heaved a sigh, rubbing his helm with frustration. "It's not that. Well, maybe it is a little bit, but I just…"

He stared down at his servos, struggling to put his feelings into words.

"… He should have been here with us."

Skywarp erupted into laughter. "Frag, TC. Starscream _wishes_ he could be here with us in this Primus-forsaken Pit, but he can't help that he's not an Outlier like us." Still chuckling, he moved off the berth to sling an arm casually around the other's shoulders. "You think he's happy about that? That out of the three of us, he's the only one without any special abilities whatsoever? You know what he's like. All this top-scoring, first military-caste scientist slag – he's just jealous, that's all."

Thundercracker frowned. What Skywarp said made sense – which was unusual, since _he_ was supposed to be the rational one – but still his Spark churned at the thought of seeing Starscream again. "We've not seen him for three whole _vorns_." He growled, his servos clenching into fists. "I still remember the first time they started testing your teleportation abilities. Primus, that was the _Pits._ Slaggit, they almost _killed_ you – and when I called him all _that_ fragger could think about was his own credentials and career."

Unbidden, the memories rose again: the glassy container, where Skywarp stood, swaying with fatigue; the cold, unfeeling optics of the overseeing officer and his harsh bark of command; the bright purple flash as his trinemate tried, in futility, to teleport once more – only to collapse, screaming, as energon pooled out of the sockets where his left arm and leg used to be.

"Aw slag, that didn't even hurt," tried Skywarp, forcing a weak smile. "All Outliers go through it. I mean, it was good in a way. The training did kinda sorta help – I've got much better stamina than before, and now that I know my own limits –"

" _But what if it had been your Spark_ , Warp?!" interrupted Thundercracker, his helm snapping up to glare at his wingmate. "They don't care about us here. Slag, _he_ doesn't care about the two of us either! It's always been about _him_ and his stupid ideals. When has he spared even a single klick to think of us?"

"Hey, c'mon 'Cee, you've always known that Starscream's a self-centred slagger who'd never let anything get in the way of what he wants," said his trinemate, lightly punching him in the wing. "And look, he did get us out of here eventually. We're still a trine, after all."

Thundercracker still did not look convinced. "I'm worried he's just using us in more experiments," he muttered, darkly. "What if it's just the same as being here? I don't trust what he's doing. All that talk about fighting Functionism, but he's still sat guzzling funds from the Senate for his supposed 'research'… I just don't know, Warp."

And he hit his helm into the desk and muffled a groan of frustration.

His wingmate patted him awkwardly. "Jeez, you always think too much of everything, TC," he sighed, smiling amusedly. "Look, I get it. I don't understand Starscream's grand scheme of revolution either, or whatever it is he's trying to prove about the castes by becoming a scientist and all that slag. I just know he's smarter than the both of us, and he's our trine leader. He'll know what he's doing."

He waited a moment, but Thundercracker still did not move, and the purple Seeker stifled a groan of exasperation. He wasn't good with words, and he hated consoling a mopey, overthinking Thundercracker, who was generally inconsolable. When his trinemate still hadn't budged after a solid breem, Skywarp decided he had had enough. Thinking to himself that actions were louder anyway – or however the saying goes – he gripped the other Seeker's wing and teleported.

The blue Seeker squawked in surprise as the desk and chair he had been sitting on promptly vanished, and he fell inelegantly upon his aft. When he finally found his bearings, he found himself staring at a bright neon sign that declared: 'Hex Happy Hour – 2 High Grade Cubes for the Price of 1!' accompanied by Skywarp's beaming face.

"C'mon TC, let's get some high grade and dancing into our systems," offered his wingmate, extending a servo. "We're going to Iacon, after all, where the booze is good and the femmes are even better! We might as well grab some oil here before we leave. There, that oughta cheer even _you_ up, you grumpy slagger."

Thundercracker rolled his optics, but accepted the other's gesture and allowed himself to be pulled up. "Fine," he grumbled, smiling despite himself. "But you're paying."

"Obviously," exclaimed Skywarp with confidence. "It's my treat this time, I swear."

(… But by the time the night was over, it had most definitely turned into Thundercracker's treat again.)

* * *

Maccadam's Old Oil House was unusually packed for a work night, and Skyfire found his great bulk completely unsuited for the crowds.

He waited uncomfortably for an opening, his huge frame forced against the door by the mass of writhing mechs attracted to the Oil House's old disco machine. Eventually, using his great height to his advantage, he located Venture and Trailfire in a darker corner of the Oil House, huddled around a small table. Trailfire glimpsed him first and waved a golden arm, gesturing for him to come over. Skyfire tried awkwardly to acknowledge the greeting, but as he did so, his elbow knocked into the helm of a small red mech who had been busy chatting up a nearby femme.

"Ow!" exclaimed the little mech, rubbing his helm and whipping round furiously to glare at Skyfire. "Watch what you're doing!"

"Sorry," said Skyfire, trying to make himself as small as possible.

The mech's optics did not move from him. "Slagging glitchin' fliers," he grumbled, but the words weren't quite hidden enough under the music. "Watch your wings!" He added, louder, as Skyfire turned to avoid a passionate couple and almost knocked into him again.

The shuttle did not miss the other's offensive slur against his altmode, but he resolved not to let it affect him and turned his back on the rude mech to approach his friends' table. "Hey," he shouted over the throbbing beat of the music as he fought his way towards them. "Sorry I'm late! I was talking to Starscream."

Skyfire's two friends, both automobiles, shared a glance at the mention of that name, as though engaging in some private joke. "Oh, that freak?" chuckled Trailfire, "what did he want from you this time?"

"He's not a freak," said Skyfire immediately, pulling up a seat. "And not a lot. We were just chatting generally and we ran over time. He was telling me about his graduation speech at his old college again."

Trailfire burst into uproarious laughter, slapping the table with glee. "Oh slag," he swore, "that must be, what, the fifth time now?"

"We keep telling you to stay away from him, Skyfire," added Venture, his scowling reaction a stark contrast to his friend's. "You saw how he was when you tried to introduce him to us. Don't buy into his supposed 'anti-Functionism' slag, he just hates non-fliers."

"Too true," agreed Trailfire, not giving Skyfire a chance to speak. " _You're_ alright, Skyfire, you're a decent mech through and through, but that Starscream? He's the literal personification of the type of fliers that us mechs hate. _He's_ the reason fliers have such a bad rep."

"Yeah. Get out whilst you still can, else you'll be roped in with _him_."

Convinced in the accuracy of their verdict, the two vehicular mechs downed their respective high grades as though the conversation was concluded.

But Skyfire, despite recognising the truth in the others' words, felt obliged to jump to his research partner's defence. "I know where you guys are coming from," he admitted, quietly, thinking of the little red mech from just moments ago. "But I don't think you fully understand Starscream's… _our_ side of the story." He looked down at his servos, so much larger than either of his friends. "It's too easy to judge when you've not experienced it…"

"What did you say?" hollered Trailfire, leaning over the table. "Sorry, Sky, but you gotta speak up a bit. The slagging music's way too loud and I totally missed like, the majority of that."

"I said –" began Skyfire, louder, then changed his mind. "Never mind," he gestured hastily, giving both mechs a quick smile. "How have you two been?"

"Alright," Venture shrugged, smiling ironically. "We've just finished the training, and now they're giving us some easy jobs to get started with, like patrols and directing traffic and stuff. It'll get harder later, of course, when we'll be dealing with _real_ criminals, but I can handle the odd drunkard on the street right now." He jerked a thumb in Trailfire's direction, and added, jokingly: " _This_ slagger is giving me the most trouble, to tell you the truth."

"Hey!" protested Trailfire, giving the other mech a playful punch which Venture returned.

Skyfire laughed at their antics. "I see you guys have the reformatting done too." He observed, pointing out at a new, unfamiliar ridge running along the two mechs' arms – like some kind of stand or support for new equipment.

Venture glanced down. "Oh slag, yeah. Forgot about that. Yeah, they added a few bits and bobs here and there. It's so we can have guns and weapons fitted in our frames later."

"They let me keep my microscope tube for now though – said it might look enough like a gun to frighten the drunks away," chipped in Trailfire, laughing with all the enthusiasm of a drunk himself. "But the best bit is – we've got sirens!"

To prove his point, he flashed the blue and red lights fitted upon his back.

Skyfire smiled, but not before noticing Venture's somewhat bitter expression. "Haven't your brothers come around to the news yet?" He asked, gently.

The dark blue mech huffed and shook his helm, turning to reach for another high-grade cube. "I already told you, I don't think they ever will," he said, sullenly. "It's already been two deca-cycles since we graduated. We… _They_ 've always been a family of scientists. And now that I'm a…" his voice quavered, and Skyfire almost lost it in the background music, "… a cop, they're treating me like the rest of them do – like a mech from the _disposable_ class. No one would give a slag whether I lived or died."

"Aw, no! Sky and I definitely do!" Trailfire chirped, his high spirits – enhanced by his drink – undampened even as his companion sank into a deeper gloom. "It's alright, Vent. You're fine staying at my place, and you know you'll always be welcome."

"Yeah, thanks buddy," said Venture, his own mood perhaps exaggerated by the influences of high grade, and he took another sip.

Skyfire watched his two friends with an expression broken by sympathy and sorrow. "You're always welcome at mine, too," he said, placing a servo comfortingly upon his friend's arm.

Venture nodded, looking moved. "Thank you," he murmured, earnestly, then shook himself. "Aren't you ordering anything?" He asked, turning his attention back on to Skyfire.

The shuttle shook his head. "The queue's too long," he said, glancing back at the throng of mechs behind him. "Anyway, I'll need to go back early; Starscream and I have an inspection from the Science Council tomorrow, and I'll need to be sober for that."

Trailbreaker barked a laugh. "I can just imagine ol' Screamer's face," he guffawed, downing his cube once again, "when _you_ come stumbling in drunk as anything. Primus, that would be _hilarious_. I bet he'd never think you're the type."

Skyfire smiled, but despite his friend's giggles, Venture remained solemn. "It's the inspection on progress they do every two deca-cycles, isn't it?" He remarked, thoughtfully, his optics staring unseeingly over Skyfire's broad wings at the clump of frames twisting in time to the music. "I suppose he – the flyboy, that is – will be talking all about those Outliers and how much progress you'll be making now you've got some _real_ biological weapons at hand?"

That phrase… Skyfire twitched in spite of himself at the words. "I know you doubt Starscream's integrity, Vent," he said, defensively, "but don't doubt mine. We're only calling it that to appease the Senate, but you know my aim – _our_ aim – is to achieve equality, not war."

Venture's optic ridges knotted together. "I know, Skyfire," he murmured, blue optics gazing, piercingly, into the shuttle's. "But I just wanted to warn you not to be led down the wrong route by _that_ mech. He's dangerous, I can feel it."

Skyfire met the other's gaze with determination. "Don't worry," he said, reassuringly. "Despite all appearances, Starscream is very passionate about his cause. And I _will_ keep him on the straight and narrow, I promise."

His words were confident, and when Skyfire thought about it he realised just how true he believed them to be. Yes, Starscream could be temperamental, opinionated – rightly or wrongly – and vicious when he wanted to be. But the shuttle still thought he saw _something_ in the Seeker that was so much more than that, and he did not think it was pure naïve idealism which had forced that image upon him.

Venture stared at him a moment longer, his expression as dark as his plating, before abruptly releasing a heavy cycle of air from his fans. "… You're right," he sighed, a weary smile creeping over his faceplates. "Maybe I'm just jealous that _he's_ there, at Iacon, doing what I've always thought I was destined for, and that I'm here as insignificant cannon fodder for the police force." He turned his faceplates away, and both of them turned to look at Trailfire, who had, at some point during their conversation slumped on to the table and was now snoring away quite contentedly despite the blasting music in the background.

Venture was silent for just a moment more. "Trailer and I are proud of you, Skyfire," he said, suddenly, "for getting where we couldn't. And for doing that despite all the… You know. You being a, um," here, he dipped his helm, almost ashamed to utter the words, "… flier and all that. So, yeah. Don't let my drunken rants get to you. You just go back there and you keep going with the research that matters to you, no matter who it's with. And I know you'll do great." He lifted his high-grade cube, tilting it in offer. "A toast to you, buddy. What do you say?"

The shuttle smiled, and took the cube in his servo. "Thank you, Vent," he nodded, his tone warm with gratitude. "I hope Starscream and I can both do you proud."

And from the bottom of his Spark, Skyfire was sure it would happen. For if anyone could change the world, he thought, then it would surely be Starscream.


	3. Duplicity

**Duplicity:** n. deceitfulness

* * *

Inspector Crossflare from the Science Council was one of those weedy, feeble-minded ground-pounders who, thought Starscream, represented the pinnacle of the corrupt system he so despised.

The Seeker sat, leaning against his lab counter with his chin resting in his servo, optics dim as though half in recharge, his whole frame a picture of unperturbed coolness. But internally, he was observing and mocking his superior's every movement with appropriate snark and disrespect. Whilst it could not be denied that some of his observations did indeed hold a nugget of truth, the majority of them were aimed with greater vicious intent than objective commentary.

The inspector was weaving through the counters of the laboratory now, each of which held the set-up for a deliberately perplexing but impressive looking experiment. He was scribbling down notes whenever the thought occurred to him, but so far nodding along compliantly and looking, as Starscream suspected he would, completely in awe.

The Seeker waited until the inspector had made his rounds before gesturing lazily. "Any questions?"

"Er, yes," said Crossflare, peering at his notes. "Just a few - it's all looking brilliant as usual so far, Starscream - but the er, Senate would just like to confirm that you have reached the experimental phase of your, um, research."

"Absolutely," nodded Starscream pleasantly. "I've spent the last two deca-cycles reading up on past studies in the field of Spark reformation and upgrades, as well as, ah, salvaging what I can from Project W94X7 - pardon me," he paused, his voice saccharine with patronising pity, "you must not know the _scientific_ code for it. I believe the Senate refers to it often as project 'Metanoia'."

"Um, oh, yes. That's the one," said the little inspector, somewhat haplessly glancing around the lab. "The Science Council wants to let you know that the Senate is particularly keen for you to, ah, restore what you can of the original project. And replicate it. The findings and... You know. All exactly the same."

"Of course, that's what 'to replicate' means," muttered Starscream with a condescending flick of his wings. If Crossflare heard the snide remark, he didn't show any sign of it, and the Seeker put on his smile again. "Of course," he proclaimed, louder now, "I wouldn't dream of doing anything _other_ than what the Senate has commissioned me to do. On that subject, I have some excellent news for the Senate."

Crossflare blinked. "Oh?"

"Oh yes," nodded Starscream, looking rather pleased with himself. "Make sure you let the Senate know that I have found some Outliers who are, in fact, the product of the original project Metanoia. You know," he clarified, irritation creeping into his voice when Crossflare looked blank, "cold constructed mechs with Outlier abilities? Are we still following? Yes? Anyway, those mechs are alive and well, and I have made contact and they will be joining me in Iacon shortly."

The inspector nodded with obliviousness.

Starscream glanced at the other's datapad. "Well, aren't you going to write that down?" He gestured with his helm, his tone growing noticeably snappish. "Let the Senate know! This will be of interest to them."

"A-Ah, I see!" mumbled Crossflare, and began scribbling immediately.

"The plan is," continued Starscream, with a slowness one would usually expect from someone addressing a sparkling, "to study the Biomechanical make up of those Outliers. My partner Skyfire, here, will assist me in taking those measurements. I hope, by studying the Sparks of successful specimen, that I – we – will be able to reverse-engineer the Spark-generation formula used in the original project and replicate their results, creating entirely new Outliers through artificial means."

"... rev...erse... engi...neer..." muttered Crossflare, apparently struggling to spell.

Glancing over the inspector's helm, Starscream made eye contact with Skyfire and mouthed the word 'moron' over to the shuttle's direction. Skyfire's own faceplates made a confused turn between trying not to smile and trying to look solemn and disapproving.

Crossflare made a few more uncertain notes in his datapad before looking up again. He seemed frightened of Starscream, as though able to sense the other's veiled hostility.

"I, um, think I have all that I need for now," he said, looking as though he were scrambling through his processor for any information he may have missed. "Oh, but um, do bear in mind that your project **must** be kept confidential. T-The public must not hear of it." He swept his gaze around to include Skyfire into the conversation, and the shuttle nodded mutely, though his optic ridges had knitted together at the words. "We don't want a, er, a repeat of what happened last time, do we?"

"Of course not," replied Starscream, smiling widely. "Vorns of research destroyed by hordes of ignorant civilians? I'm sure that would not be in the interest of the Senate at all."

"Nor in yours, Starscream," said Crossflare, with a sudden warning in his voice. Perhaps he had found his courage now that he was comfortably close to the door. "You know what happened to the scientists in the last project. The Senate has the right to terminate any who breaches the confidentiality of this project - and this extends to both you and your test subjects."

Concern was clearly writ large upon Skyfire's face-plates, but he stayed silent and kept his optics firmly fixed, with as much faux composure as he could muster, upon the inspector.

Crossflare, however, was looking at Starscream alone, as though the shuttle did not even count as a presence in his optics. "You have submitted the identification data of your test subjects to the Science Council for approval?" He inquired, carefully.

"Already done," Starscream nodded. "My test subjects were former students in the Jhiaxian Academy of Advanced Technology, but I've signed all the appropriate documents required to ensure their smooth transition under my custody, and this information has already been copied to the Academy. The Science Council knows who they are - and the Senate can too, if necessary."

"Oh, the Senate already knows," said the inspector without hesitation, and the Seeker's optics narrowed. "They'll be keeping a close optic on those Outliers once they're in Iacon." He looked quite agitated. "Look, I, um... I really _must_ stress again the importance of confidentiality, Starscream. And, er, Skyfire. The public is not fond of the Senate running military experiments, and -"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Starscream, carelessly waving a servo and looking quite bored. "I _have_ been debriefed before. I know the drill."

Crossflare appeared a little irritated at the interruption, but evidently his fear of the Seeker overrode the desire to complain. "Well, um, in that case," he fidgeted awkwardly, "I'll report back to the Science Council now. And the, er, Senate, of course. In the mean time you, um, keep up the excellent work, and I shall let you know if anything further comes up with the Senate. Um."

"Naturally," said Starscream, quite pleasantly. "Have a good day."

He kept up his smile until Crossflare had left the lab and the doors had sealed shut. Then his expression dropped quickly into a scowl.

"Slagging moron," he muttered, "probably couldn't tell his aft from his mouth." He turned to look at Skyfire, rolling his optics in exasperation. " _This_ is the kind of stupid mech the Science Council works with. Scientific class my aft! No wonder this place is going down the Pits."

"… I can't believe the Senate really _is_ so concerned about keeping confidentiality," murmured Skyfire, his processor otherwise preoccupied. "The inspector distinctly mentioned termination…"

Starscream snorted, seemingly unbothered by the implication. "Of course they are," he laughed, appearing completely at ease with the threat. "This is how low the Senate is willing to sink, all to save their own skidplates. I _have_ told you about project 'Metanoia', haven't I?"

"Yes, I do remember." admitted the shuttle slowly, his face-plates creasing into a frown. "… It did seem like a rather unpleasant end for all involved – for the Senate, the scientists or the subjects."

The Seeker simply chuckled, shaking his helm. "You don't even know the half of it," he laughed, though there was something dark in his tone. "The public was – naturally – enraged that the Senate was conducting all those unethical experiments. For their own gain, no less! I still remember those headlines: 'Playing Primus? The Senate's Secret Super-Powered Army'. It's a delicious scandal, isn't it? The Senate, constructing Outliers _cold_. They've done what they could to wash their servos free of the entire thing since the project's termination. Well. Until _I_ came along."

The shuttle nodded absent-mindedly. Like many of Starscream's stories, it would not be the first time he has heard of them, but with enduring patience he prompted the Seeker for an explanation anyway. "I suppose it makes sense for the Senate to desire a technology that only they can have access to," he remarked.

"Greedy slaggers," spat out Starscream with hearty hatred. "They're corrupt; they're all about consolidating their own power, and they're not afraid of sacrificing others for it." He turned and fixed his burning optics to gaze out of their laboratory window, where a wide, unbroken view of Iacon sprawled out beneath them, interrupted only by the shards of dying sunlight fading over the glass buildings and walls. "The Senate thinks only about using this technology for their _own_ benefits, but I – _we_ – have a greater vision in mind, don't we?"

Skyfire didn't answer. "I have a question," he said, slowly.

The Seeker turned his helm, his fiery optics blazing. "Oh?" He remarked. "Frightened, Skyfire?" His words were weighted, though everything from the mech's posture to his expression suggested lightness and jest. "I _did_ think you looked a bit pale when that inspector was here just now, but I thought maybe that was to do with your paintjob."

The shuttle ignored the thinly veiled jabs. "You've been asking me to spread the word around," he said, in a calm, firmly neutral tone, "about _your_ 'project' - what _you_ aim to achieve using the Senate's credits. And I did what you said. Only…" He paused here, chewing over the words. "… Only you didn't tell me about the risks."

"I thought you were _clever_ , Skyfire," retorted Starscream, bitterness clouding his tone. His wings dropped, and when he turned to face the shuttle this time, there was no pretense of joviality. "Of course there would be _risks_. You and I – our ideas are dangerous to the Senate. One misstep and there will be consequences. But you knew that, Skyfire, and you were prepared for those risks, or else you wouldn't be here."

"I wasn't prepared to involve my _friends_ ," answered Skyfire, his servos clenching subconsciously into fists. "What if the Senate traced it back to them? They wouldn't know about the importance of confidentiality. You didn't _tell me_ –"

"If you did your job," interrupted Starscream sharply, and it was clear by the way his frame was tensing that his temper was flaring, " _then the word will spread._ Mechs all over Iacon, no, the whole of _Cybertron_ will hear of _my_ invention – the possibility of a whole-scale Spark renovation, and it will be available for _all_. No longer will they be left to suffer under the oppressive choices of a malevolent deity." Here, he sneered, lips curling in a wordless curse. "They'll be free to _choose_ who they are, and who they want to be, even _after_ creation." He stood up, sweeping past the rows of counters to stop before the window, his small, slim stature nevertheless forming an imposing sight as he opened his arms and gestured with grandiose arrogance at Cybertron before him. " **I will change the world** , Skyfire! By the time my invention becomes public knowledge, it will be too late for the Senate to stop it, never mind start punishing anyone."

The shuttle watched this display, and imagined, just a few deca-cycles ago, of a crimson Seeker illuminated with the same pomp and brutal cynicism, on the stage of his graduation ceremony. He bowed his helm.

"I just think," he began again, carefully, "that we need to be careful at this current stage before revealing too much. I… Ugh. I wish you _did_ say something, Starscream. I've already told my friends Venture and Trailfire. You remember them? The ones I introduced you to, once?"

"Mmh, vaguely. Not what they look like though," answered Starscream with an absent-minded hum. "They were those scientific-class ground-pounders from the School you attended, weren't they?" His face-plates crinkled with ill-disguised disgust. "Actually, now I _do_ recall their condescending manner. Typical scientists, really…"

"About that," murmured Skyfire, "they're members of the police force."

There was a silence as Starscream blinked with genuine surprise at the revelation. Then the moment was gone and the Seeker's faceplates slipped back into flat-line boredom. "Oh, that's even _worse_ ," he shook his helm, turning his back on his partner now to clear away the intricate displays upon his lab counters. "Corrupt, abusive, unruly bunch. More brawn than brain. Well, I suppose it's an easy mix-up to make, what with the quality of the scientific-class nowadays…" And here he laughed, his voice light and dismissive of the lives he was mocking.

"Starscream," interjected his partner, firmly. "My friends aren't like that, and I won't let you make fun of them in front of me."

The Seeker rolled his optics but said nothing.

"Anyway, that's not the point," continued Skyfire, frowning seriously and determined to make his friend aware of the gravity of their situation. "Starscream, _listen_. They're in the police force. They work with authorities close to the Senate. What if the Senate hears about this?"

"Look," growled Starscream, frustration pulling his wings taught and making him discard the empty test tubes with greater venom than necessary. "If those ground-pounders really _are_ your so-called friends, you wouldn't need to worry about them spilling to the Senate. And anyway," he waved a servo with flippant carelessness, "if they arein the police force, as you say, then our research will surely _benefit_ them. I can regenerate their Sparks fit for a _real_ member of the scientific caste, if they wanted. They'll have no reason to – "

"No," interrupted Skyfire, his own optic ridges creasing. "No. You misunderstand. I'm not worried about them leaking information on us. I mean, what if they accidentally reveal information about our project that puts _them_ in danger with the Senate? What will…" His voice faltered. "What will happen then?"

"You honestly –?" Starscream stopped, his servos dropping to the counter as he turned to stare at his research partner with open incredulity. "You're concerned about _their_ well-being, even if they betray us? Well. You're certainly more foolish than I thought."

"They're my friends," insisted Skyfire.

"Tch," said Starscream, looking skeptical, but said nothing more.

Now the two researchers busied themselves with tidying away the lab, lost in the mundane realism of their current activities after all the heat and passion of their previous discussion. For all that desire to change the world and defend the righteous, the lab had to stay clean and orderly or they would most certainly be receiving an irate comm-message the next orn from their cleaner bot.

It took another cycle, but finally the lab was once again presentable, and the two idealistic fliers found themselves seated opposite each other once more in reflective silence. Starscream looked coolly out of the window, his faceplates wiped clean of emotion, and Skyfire replayed their earlier conversation with optic ridges creased with thoughtfulness.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"… Would you reformat Venture and Trailfire's Sparks, if they asked you to?"

The Seeker shot the other a cursory glance. "Your friends are a minority," he answered, flatly. "The central limit theorem states that as _n_ increases to infinity, the distribution of the data will tend towards the norm. Your friends simply form 2.5% of the 'unfortunate' privileged."

Unbidden, Venture's drawn faceplates swam into Skyfire's processor. He stared down at his servos.

" _We,_ on the other hand, are part of an extremely fortunate 2.5% for mechs of our caste, Skyfire," continued Starscream, his optics still fixated on a far-off vision somewhere over the horizon. "I see it more as our duty to aid the 97.5% of fliers out there, so that they will no longer have to suffer as we did for something as simple as the freedom of _choice_."

The shuttle looked up. His azure optics were as clear as ice. "So you would reject them?" he prompted.

Starscream's lips curled. "Don't put words in my mouth," he snapped. "… No. I would not reject them. If I did that, I would be no better than those Functionist slaggers." His glare seemed to sharpen in intensity as he dared the other to challenge him. "I was simply listing _priorities_."

Skyfire decided, wisely, not to pursue the subject. He turned his helm and gazed, too, out on to the skyline before them, musing idly on the idea that he and Starscream were not quite looking into the same future.

"I wonder…" He murmured, as a final ray of light slipped over the horizon and inky blue leaked across the sky, "… if we really are any different from the original scientists in 'Metanoia'." He tilted his helm, gazing quietly into the darkness. "I wonder if we _are_ playing Primus."

"So?" Starscream shrugged. "Maybe I'd do a better job."

This attracted a startled look from the other flier, to which the Seeker smirked crookedly and waved a servo.

"Relax. If it's for the greater good, then it's surely what Primus would want," said the Seeker, lightly. "Anyway, like I say, it all depends on the public's perception of it. Do it right, and we'll be safe. The adoring masses will surely protect us against the Senate. Slag, they might even _help_ us get rid of them."

"But how are you going to get mechs on your side?" queried Skyfire, doubtfully. "I'm… doing my best, Starscream, but…"

"Hmph. You fool. I wasn't _really_ going to leave it up to you to let the world know," the Seeker snorted, folding his arms across his cockpit. But when he turned to face his partner, there was another light – one free from malice – which shone in his optics. "Skyfire, there's an ancient saying from one of Cybertron's colonies. 'The pen is mightier than the sword', I think it goes. And believe me," he smirked, "when the time comes, it will be _my_ pen which prevails over the Senate's blade."

* * *

"I don't trust that Seeker one bit," growled Senator Proteus from his high seat at the Senate table, slamming a heavy fist down on the thick, metallic surface with a thud that made poor Crossflare jump. "First bringing in that _other_ flier on to the project – whatever the slagger's designation is – _without_ our consent when we had specifically told him that his project was to be _classified information_ , and _now_ he's bringing in Outliers too?! How many more mechs is he planning on inviting?! We might as well be making a public announcement at this point!"

"Calm yourself, Proteus," said Senator Decimus, seated at the Head of the Senates. The elderly mech, in stark contrast to his younger colleague, appeared as an oasis of calm, his rich, deep voice powerful and unwavering as he spoke. "Starscream has his own reasoning. The Outliers he has summoned are, after all, the successful results of the previous Project 'Metanoia'. We are fortunate that any have survived."

"It is still unacceptable conduct," snapped Proteus, undeterred. He had stood up from his seat now and was pacing agitatedly around. "Does he think nothing of our authority? We have repeatedly emphasized to him that this technology _must not be leaked._ Introducing fliers into the Science Academy was indeed a mistake! What is Cybertron coming to?!"

"He has performed admirably for a flier," interjected Hydrocharger, Director of the Iacon Academy of Science and Technology and Head of the Science Council. Compared to the others he was fairly youthful for a mech who had acquired so many titles, but nevertheless he spoke with a quiet assurance of his place even among the Senate. "Dustmaster was my former tutor, and I trust his expertise. He has told me that, despite disciplinary issues, Starscream is quite competent and highly accomplished in the scientific field."

"All utterly useless if he has no loyalty to our agenda!" retorted Proteus, sweeping an intimidating glare around the Senate room in an attempt to amass support. "There must be some other mech. Cybertron has never welcomed a mech of the _militant_ class into the scientific ranks –!"

"Oh, do be quiet, Proteus," snapped Senator Sherma uncharacteristically, the quiet intellectual class Transformer having had quite enough of the other's passionate rants. "Mechs like you are the reason why the Senate is losing credibility and trust among the Cybertronians. Starscream has made far greater progress on this project than any of the other previous researchers had done. Employing him is an example of how the Senate is willing to embrace new ideas. The old ideas of Functionism are causing unrest –"

"Functionism is what Cybertron has been operating under since the Thirteen!" retorted Proteus, his optics piercing into his fellow Senator's. "This is what Primus intended…!"

"Oh, please."

"Senator Proteus, Senator Sherma, be silent!" cried Decimus, his powerful voice effectively drowning out any other remark Sherma may have made. The great mech paused to ensure that he had the room's full attention, before speaking once more, his voice slow and thoughtful.

"Both of my esteemed colleagues make valuable points," droned the older mech in a much quieter tone. "Starscream will serve his purpose in recreating the research of the original 'Metanoia'. Sherma is correct – there is unrest among the society and the Senate shall need a powerful, loyal army of Outliers to defend it. Currently, the Seeker shows the greatest promise in successfully delivering the results we desire."

A series of slow, if somewhat reluctant, nods around the table.

"Similarly, I concur with Proteus in acknowledging that Starscream is also an unknown. His alliance is uncertain and his origins raise questions of his trustworthiness," continued Decimus. "We shall keep him until he has served his purpose. When the time is right, he shall be eliminated as seen fit by the Council, so that he may not betray us in the end."

More muted nods, and it was only Hydrocharger who showed even the slightest hint of remorse.

"A pity." He murmured, his expression filled with wistful 'what ifs'. "He would have been a valuable contributor to science had he not been a flier."


End file.
